


mafia mishaps

by simplyclockwork



Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [24]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU + Trope + Prompt Challenge, Accidental kidnapping, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Meet Messy, Sherlock is a mafia boss, Teacher!John Watson, Tumblr Prompt, mafia! au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22202719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: AU + Trope + PromptThis one was requested by @bilbon-socketAU:#4 – Mafia!AUTrope:#4 – Meet MessyPrompt:#2 – “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck this shit. Fuck.”Soft Baby Mafia Boss, Sherlock Holmes, has the hots for accidentally kidnapped Teacher!John Watson
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528859
Comments: 8
Kudos: 128





	mafia mishaps

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @elton-hercules-john on tumblr for the idea for the ‘meet messy’ with Sherlock accidentally kidnapping John, because I was so stuck on what to write for that. 

John was running behind. Again, for the third time that week, he was late to work. Class had started fifteen minutes ago, and here John was, still running for the tube station. Messenger bag bouncing against his back, legs burning from his hurried pace, he didn’t notice the footsteps coming up behind him until it is too late.

Something dropped over his face, heavy, scratchy fabric against his cheek, and the world went black.

* * *

When the cloth bag—as he had come to identify it—was pulled off his head, John blinked at the sudden light as it struck his eyes. Emanating from a bare fluorescent, the sound of the light buzzed in his hot head. He looked around, taking in a sparse, concrete room that smelled of stagnant air. Water dripped somewhere behind him.

Gradually, John realized he was sitting in a hard wooden chair, arms tied behind him with what felt like a zip tie, ankles similarly bound to the chair's legs. Rolling his sore neck, he stared around, noting a small table to the left with an array of sharp metal tools. He narrowed his eyes at it. “Where the hell am I?” he asked aloud to the room, tugging at the restraints and finding no give. The tools on the table looked cruel and deadly, and sweat beaded his brow. _Fuck,_ he thought. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck this shit! Fuck!_

A heavy door, set into the wall to his left, swung open. Air whooshed in, scattering his thoughts. A tall man entered, younger than him with a head of thick, unruly curls. Two large, shorter men followed, dressed in black and grey, eyes dark in their dull faces.

“So, Mr. Davies, we meet at—” the tall man’s words died off in his mouth with an abrupt click of teeth as he turned to face John. His arm shot out, pointing, and he turned his head to the heavy muscle beside him. “Who _the hell is this_?” he demanded, finger still jabbed in John’s direction.

John just stared. Even angry, the tall man was stunning—sharp cheekbones and pale eyes, white skin a sharp contrast to his evidently expensive black suit.

The two men babbled, falling back from the furious man as he swore at them, “I told you to bring me Mister Davies—not whoever this is!” He gestured at John once more, and John cleared his throat.

“Ah, John Watson,” he said, licking his bottom lip when the man rounded on him. “Nice to…meet you?” He laughed, a nervous sound, and swallowed when the man just stared.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he finally replied, walking forward to stare down at John. “You’re rather interesting, aren’t you, Mister Watson?”

John shrugged as best as he could with his arms restrained behind him. “Um, if you say so.”

Sherlock stared at him a little longer before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small black object. His thumb flicked, and a sharp, thin blade shot out. John looked at it nervously, licking his lips again. But Sherlock just tilted, bracing one hand on the back of the chair as he bent down to cut through the zip tie around John’s wrists, doing the same with John’s legs. Closing the knife and dropping it back into his pocket, he straightened and offered a hand. John paused, searching Sherlock’s light eyes, and took it. He was pulled to his feet, the tall man standing close.

“So sorry for the misunderstanding, Mister Watson,” Sherlock said in a low, smooth voice. He gripped John’s hand a little longer than necessary, and John found himself unable to keep the small grin off his face.

“Well, no harm, I suppose,” John replied as their hands finally released. “I didn’t want to go to work that bad.”

Sherlock returned his grin, his teeth showing in an almost wolfish expression. “Still, I would love to make it up to you.” His eyes flashed, and he purred, “Would you be amenable to dinner?” John leaned forward, voice dropping into a breathy tone.

“Amenable doesn’t even begin to cover it, Mister Holmes,” he replied, and Sherlock’s face flushed with pleasure.


End file.
